Days without alcohol: 0
It’s nearly impossible to have good sex on Staten Island.
Nearly, but if you try a few times that totally changes. It’s some sort of law of averages that can only be computed by those within the whore phase. The whore phase is a wonderful time period in which an adult stops crawling, skips a few stages of development, and learns to outright strut in a sexual sphere. Carrie Bradshaw was perpetually in the whore phase. Evita assumed the presidency with her whore phase. Napolean conquered half the world during his whore phase. Mine got me a ride in a cop car.
It was no accident that I waited until New York to reach my whore phase, I’ve spent the last four years in a small and unattractive village, so after carefully considering the risks of sex in both an emotional (why doesn’t he like me??!?!?) and physical (you can die) sense- I quickly decided I had earned a whore phase. I have the least sexual partnes of anyone I know (except for Dr Mario) so don’t judge.
When I first hung out with TopCop it wasn’t clear that we would sleep together. Nor was it clear that he was a cop. What was clear was that he had invited me out to dinner and once he picked me up from the ferry we immediately drove off to a restaurant. Or I thought it would be a restaurant, instead it was TGIFridays… Not that this low brow chain isn’t an adequate place to eat… but in New York that’s like telling someone you’re going to sleep with them and literally falling asleep beside them. I had the culinary equivalent of blue balls!
Fortunately the meal was quick, the conversation was pleasant, and the long island ice teas were plentiful. Though a bit put off by the fact that I couldn’t use his breathalyzer for the fun of it, the evening entirely rebounded when inside TopCop’s lovely town house I discovered he had the one thing a young gay man from Michigan cares about- a hot tub.
Normally I would’ve just watched a movie and cuddled a bit before accepting a ride home. But I wanted in that hot tub, dammit. That’s why the whore phase comes with whore logic, which means you can rationalize less than chaste decisions for otherwise unacceptable reasons. In my case, sleeping with a cop who just bought me dinner was perfectly acceptable considering there was a hot tub to be enjoyed.
And continuing to sleep with someone you’re ambivalent towards is perfectly ok as long as you’re not ambivalent towards their hot tub.
On the way home I nearly missed the ferry, which meant jumping into a cop car and turning on the lights to enable my driver to pass through red lights and surprisingly respectful traffic. If there’s an ambulance with sirens blaring, no one even considers getting out of the way. When a one night stand needs to get to a ferry so that he can do the boat-ride-of-shame, the crowds part in understanding of the dire scene. New York.
Not that the entire event was a one night stand. Definitely not. It’s just getting colder out, that hot tub is more useful now than ever. And I’m learning that TopCop is actually a lot of fun… we have the same enjoyment of alcohol and cartoons. Especially alcohol and cartoons while in heated aroma-therapy massage jet comfort.
None of this would be a problem were it not for Professor Bronx. He’s a teacher. A public school teacher. In the Bronx. He teaches special education students. He teaches special ed students at a public school in the Bronx. I’m sure he’s angling for saint-hood. That’s new for me, going for the total boyscout. What’s not new- he’s too old, relationship oriented, finds me effortlessly attractive, and is way too nice for me… It doesn’t take whore logic to see that this is the exact trend that Weather Man followed, and I’m in no emotional condition to weather another storm like that one.
Strangely though, I find myself taking it very slow with Professor Bronx. We’ll shag a total stranger but keep any real prospect at arm’s length… Each time we’re together we’re sure to take things slowly, focus on something other than ending up in bed, and it’s turning into a romantic site seeing tour with a charming man who knows everything about the city. The first date on the sea port, the make out in Battery Park, the walk past the ferry for Staten Island….
Oh. Staten Island. Fuck! Why am I still taking clandestine trips out to Staten Island? Is a hot tub worth pulling myself away from someone who is actually emotionally engaging? Or is it smart to continue seeking out a relaxing hot tub instead of submerging myself into what looks like to be a repeat of Weather Man? Whore logic or human logic? Is he Professor B or just plan B?
The whore phase does not demand an answer right now. It does demand a make out buddy, asap. To the bar!
[watch your heart when we’re together, boys like you love me forever. boys boys boys!]